Can't I Have Both?
by Not Days but Knights
Summary: When Amber suddenly shows up at House’s office begging for a fellowship behind Wilson’s back, House sees the moment as a sign of weakness and as an opportunity to take matters into his own, revengeful hands. H/W, Sequel is "Get Used to It"
1. Confrontation

**Can't I Have Both?**

**Characters:** Wilson/Amber, House, the rest?

**Rating: **PG – PG 13 for language

**Warnings: **Spoilers for 4x12, friendship/pre-slash

**Summary: **When Amber suddenly shows up at House's office begging for a fellowship behind Wilson's back, House sees the moment as a sign of her weakness and an opportunity to take matters into his own, revengeful hands.

Chapter 1 – Confrontation

A rhythmic sound of thudding followed by a palm making contact with a large tennis ball could be heard for over half an hour from a Dr. Gregory House's office. The man was reclining heavily in his office chair, his legs sturdily resting atop his desk, while his gaze was intense and seemingly fixated on the ball he was throwing.

_Thunk, thunk, clap._

The ball made one bounce on the floor before hitting the wall and flying with strong momentum into House's outstretched hand.

_Thunk, thunk, clap._

If anyone else had been in the room, the beat would've been worthy of a headache, but House's mind was elsewhere, leaving him unaffected by his fidgeting. It had one whole week since he had made his life-altering realization; one whole week since he had consciously let his best friend walk away with another potential lover, not to mention a woman who had been known from day one as the most destructive individual alive. Ever since that fatal moment in which he had realized his utter jealousy and simultaneous frustration towards Amber one week ago, House's mind had been in a new form of torment. Before last week, his mind's confusion and frustrations had been reserved for his toughest medical cases but now... now his mind struggled over his best friend.

How long had he truly had feelings for Wilson? Had he been lying to himself for all of these years? Most importantly, could Wilson return these feelings which House had not felt for anyone since Stacy all those years ago? Why were some people gay, while the rest were allowed to go unscathed by the ridiculous controversy surrounding the concept of homosexuality? Why was it that he, of all people, should suddenly find himself in love with his best friend? Where could any of this lead?

In his frustration, House threw the ball with extra enthusiasm, causing it to ricochet with double momentum towards House on the return. House grabbed the ball with two hands, baring his teeth as his catch caused his hands to sting. He dropped the ball and shook out his hands, wringing them occasionally. As he took his legs off of his desk and leaned forward in his chair to search for the dropped ball, he heard the slight shift of metal which signified someone entering his office. House was forced to suppress a double-take as he observed the familiar, intimidating form of Cut-Throat Bitch entering his office.

He gazed, slightly dumbfounded and confused for a moment, and his mouth gaped, signifying his confusion. Amber had apparently ignored House entirely, as she was now looking over her shoulder quickly and nervously. Appearing relieved, she hurried over to the windows of House's office, pulling the blinds on each one, giving House the feeling of being trapped in his own residence.

"What the hell are you---?" House attempted to ask.

"SH!" Amber snapped back hoarsely, giving House a quick, blazing glance before continuing to close the blinds. As finished, she gave a sigh as she faced the last closed window. She slowly turned towards House, and for a moment it seemed as though she was about to cry. House scrutinized the woman whom he currently reserved the most hatred in his heart for. She was the one who had caused all of his emotional torment, from his personal discovery to his jealousy.

"Get out of my office," he said, resting his arms squarely on his knees as he lowered his head to stare at the floor.

"House," Amber whispered frantically, "I – I need your help."

"Already sick of him?" House asked, trying to smother any tone of hopefulness in his voice.

"It's not about James..." she said. "Well," she paused, still speaking at a loud whispering tone, "okay, it is. But," she began in a form which seemed like the introduction to a small, rehearsed speech, "it's not about our relationship."

House looked up at Amber, his arms still resting on his knees. "Then why are you here?"

"I want a fellowship." Amber stammered quietly.

"No," House said immediately, his personal feelings taking their stance, "you've had your chance. I gave you your options: this fellowship or Wilson. You chose Wilson."

"Can't – can't I have both?" Amber pleaded.

House sighed and briefly gazed up at the ceiling. "Why do you want the fellowship?"

It was Amber's turn to sigh. "James gave me a job after you fired me. It was sort of like an additional treat once I started dating him. It started off great: I had a job which was the equivalent of the fellowship you offered, with the bonus of never having to manipulate you again. Yet, after a few weeks all I did all day was sit in clinic and diagnose strep throat."

House pretended to show interest and pity, causing him to give her an exaggerated pout. Amber glared at him as House resumed his normal expression followed by a stifled laugh.

"I'm bored with it all. You gave me assignments that were interesting. I felt like I was being tested. They're not letting me get that same feeling." Anger rose quickly in her voice as her face became fiercer and fiercer with determination.

"Selfish bitch," House said in his typical, mocking tone, "you already have - " he feigned deep thought, "ah, 'love' and 'respect' from dear ol' Jimmy. Now you want love, respect _and _a perfect job. Ever heard the phrase, 'You can't always get what you want'?"

"Yes..." Amber said slowly, as she began to pace in semi-circle from her post at the window closer to House, "but I know how to get what I need." She gave House a small, sideways smirk.

House's mind reeled. "But of course," he began, "if I gave you a job, I'm guessing you'd have to hide from Wilson, so you don't hurt his feelings, lose your job connections, all that fun stuff."

"If that's what it takes, I'm willing to do it. I _need _someplace to go with my life. Relationships aren't enough, I need to do something. I need a real job." Amber concluded.

With that, House immediately saw an array of potential obstacles line up for Amber which would ultimately ruin her and her relationship with Wilson. Amber would never be able to leave the diagnostic floor, leaving her in a form of entrapment equal to her worthless job elsewhere. House could drop mocking and tantalizing hints between both Wilson and Amber about the entire secret, which within itself could cause a rift between the couple.

There was no doubt in his mind that Amber would eventually be discovered by Wilson, causing an explosion between the two which could, no doubt, end their fling. Wilson would be left alone, while Amber would no longer be needy, leaving Wilson to latch onto House as he always did. House felt a pang of security in the concept, and his mind seemed to abandon its typical characteristic of being reasoning and logical to make decisions. His greed seemed to consume him: this was the way to get what he wanted.

"Start tomorrow," he said, rising from his seat, grabbing his cane that was lying on the desk. He walked towards to door and began to open it. He scrutinized Amber for a moment and then spoke,

"I think there's false moustache in one of the drawers... just in case." He then swiftly swung his office door open and hurried down the hall.

"Let the games begin," he smirked to himself.


	2. Credit Card

**Can't I Have Both?**

**Characters:** Wilson/Amber, House, the rest?

**Rating: **PG – PG 13 for language

**Warnings: **Spoilers for 4x12, friendship/pre-slash

**Summary: **When Amber suddenly shows up at House's office begging for a fellowship behind Wilson's back, House sees the moment as a sign of weakness and as an opportunity to take matters into his own, revengeful hands.

-----

Chapter 2

"It's not melanoma, it's one of many bruises on this child's body. He's being abused," Thirteen argued fiercely, staring down House as he paced up and down the conference room.

"It's melanoma – as a doctor, you should be able to tell your bruises from your cancers," House snapped, pausing from his pacing to glare back at Thirteen.

"You haven't even seen the patient," Amber chimed in, "if you're going for a cancer diagnosis, it'd more likely be leukemia, not melanoma. Thirteen's right – this enormous bruise on his arm is just one of many I saw when he was first admitted."

"Maybe we should get a cancer specialist in on this. What are those guys called again?" The combined sarcasm and dangerr mixed in House's tone was enough to make Amber turn pale. The rest of the new team, obviously out of the loop on the implied threat in House's words, maintained their furious poses as Kutner shifted uncomfortably in his seat, Taub slouched further in his chair and Thirteen rolled her eyes for about the twelfth time in the past few minutes.

"Oncologists," Thirteen unnecessarily stated, "But he doesn't have cancer!" She continued to argue frustratingly.

But House didn't hear Thirteen's protests as he headed out of the office and down the hall, stopping at Wilson's office door. As he began to pound on the door yelling, "HEY, WILSON!" three out of the four fellows rose from their seats to follow House, stopping midway down the hall as Wilson opened his door.

Amber, still pale and nearly quivering from the newly found source of danger, remained stony and simultaneously furious from within the conference room. As she heard Wilson's door open, she quickly jumped to her feet, sprinting to the windows and pulling frantically at the blinds, fumbling over the cords in her mild panic.

Meanwhile, House stood at the doorway to Wilson's office as his best friend emerged, looking slightly alarmed and confused.

"Should I expect a valid reason for why you're interrupting my meeting with a patient?" Wilson asked, irritation slowly rising in his voice.

"I'm hungry; you have my lunch money."

Wilson's hands fell from the back of his neck exasperatedly to his sides. Kutner, Taub and Thirteen let out a loud gasp followed by a groan from their spot down the hall, and House heard the simultaneous sound of three pairs of feet turning around and heading away from Wilson's office towards their patient's room.

Wilson checked his watch and rolled his eyes. "House, it's not even 12:00. Let me finish with my patient."

"Is it dying?"

"Yes, _she _is," Wilson gave the typical response to House's most commonly asked question.

"Well, then she'll probably want lunch, too."

"House!" Wilson flung his arms wide in his frustration. House only gave him a comical look of a man highly amused by some sort of foreign life-form.

Recognizing a twisted form of defeat, Wilson sighed and withdrew his wallet from his pocket. As he began to search for his credit card, his eyes grew wider and wider, and his eyebrows vanished into his hairline: his credit card was no where in sight. He looked up with utter confusion on his face only to see House brandishing a blue Visa card from his back pocket. Wilson did not have to think twice to know it was his.

Sighing, Wilson turned and opened his office door from its nearly closed position and peered inside. House heard a muffled, polite voice apologize, "Please excuse me for a moment. I'll be back as soon as I can... deal with... lunch." His torso emerged from the door, revealing a slightly bewildered patient seconds before the wooden door creaked shut.

"Seriously House, what do you want?" Wilson asked desperately, putting his hands on his hips.

"Lunch," House repeated, slowly retreating backwards down the hall, still flashing Wilson's credit card.

Wilson quickly hurried towards House, his hand outstretched. "Be someone other than House just for once and let me get back with my patient."

House seemed to ponder this argument for a moment as he continued to walk backwards, looming closer and closer towards his conference room. As he reached the outside of the office, he paused, gazing upward at the ceiling.

"Was that light always burnt out?" he asked, feigning curiosity, "huh. Cheap place we've got--" but House's throwaway comment was disrupted by a sound of banging coming from the conference room.

House quickly glanced through the glass doors and saw for a brief moment the ends of a white lab coat behind the enormous bookshelf at the back of the room as a pile of books fell in a loud, mini-avalanche. Wilson stared for a split-second at House, then attempted to follow his friend's gaze towards the bookshelf. Yet, instead of seeing the interior of House's conference room, his eyes were staring unfocusedly at a blurred, blue square inches from his face.

Thinking quickly, House had thrown the credit card in his hand at Wilson's face, blocking his view.

"Thirteen and Kutner are having some special time. Figured you wouldn't want to watch."

Wilson recoiled reflexively from the credit card that hovered inches from his face. As he slowly gained control of his senses and his surroundings, he focused his attentions on House once again and the fact that his credit card remained in these dangerous hands, completely ignoring the bizarre disruption from the neighboring room.

"House, I don't have time for this. Give me back my credit card."

House said nothing, but merely slipped the card into his pocket, turned away from Wilson and headed towards the elevator, leaving Wilson to toll his eyes yet again and follow after his bizarre companion.

As Wilson crossed the threshold of the conference room, he heard a few more books fall from their shelves, causing him to stop in his tracks. Although he knew House had been lying to him a few moments ago, a nagging sensation in the back of his mind warned him not to look. Raising his hand to the side of his head, Wilson continued to chase after his friend down the hall, finally leaping into the elevator as the doors began to close.

Once the echo of the dinging from the departing elevator had resounded throughout the floor, Amber slowly emerged from her pathetic hiding place. A couple of books had toppled backwards onto her, and her hair was ruffled from the chaotic disarray. She probably had received a few paper cuts and perhaps a bruise or two, but the most important thing was that Wilson had not noticed her at all.

Books fell about her as she stood, and she knew she'd have to cover her tracks in case Wilson came in to the room later. Fury and humiliation built up inside her like water slowly boiling as she bent over to return the heavy textbooks to their shelves. She suddenly realized what a vulnerable position she had placed herself in by throwing herself into House's powers. Her desire for independence stirred from within, mixing dangerously with her frustration and humiliation as she confidently strode to the door and opened it.

"Time for lunch," she told herself, and headed towards the elevator.


	3. Trust

Chapter 3

The duo stood awkwardly in the elevator as it sped towards the ground floor. House was bouncing impatiently on the balls of his feet while Wilson remained frustrated and somewhat confused by the whole ordeal, gazing upwards at the ceiling to pass the time. Occasionally, Wilson let out a long sigh and scratched the back of his head, turning slightly to stare at House for a sign – anything – to signify why on earth he had dragged him by the credit card to the cafeteria. Despite all of Wilson's uncomfortable fidgeting, House remained silent and inattentive even after the elevator hit the ground floor, allowing him to lead Wilson out to the cafeteria.

They continued onwards in silence until, at last, Wilson couldn't take it any longer.

"Wait, wait, wait," he said, stopping in his tracks and raising his palms to House in a gesture of confusion, "you seriously interrupted my meeting with a patient _just _to take me to lunch?"

House sensed the pure confusion and bafflement in Wilson's voice as he replied, "Normally this is the part of the day where you diagnose my patient with cancer," Wilson rolled his eyes, "but some things are more important than cancer," House finished ominously. Wilson squinted at his friend, curiosity brimming around his agitation.

"How's Amber been?" House said, revealing the true topic of discussion, "Happy? Less needy? Rough? Boring?"

"Oh, I get it," Wilson snapped, anger quickly replacing the trace of curiosity he'd possessed a moment before, "you made me chase you down here so you could get your daily serving of gossip."

"That eleven fingered lawyer never really satisfied my craving. Anyways, " House continued, attempting to lead Wilson into his desired topic of conversation as they entered the cashier line for the cafeteria, "has she gotten a job, or is she a stay-at-home bitch?"

Wilson only glared furiously at House. "You still have my credit card."

House flashed the card at Wilson as he then handed it to the cashier. As he signed the receipt, he spoke again, "Which means Amber doesn't have it." He flashed Wilson a look of confidence as he grabbed his tray with one hand and hobbled over to an open table.

"Yes," Wilson followed House, grabbing his tray in turn and speaking in a sarcastic tone, "because being in a relationship means giving your partner your credit card."

"It means you don't trust her," House replied, setting his tray down at the booth he chose and sliding onto the bench seat.

Wilson couldn't help but chuckle in his bewilderment as he sat down opposite of House.

"So.. not giving my credit card to Amber shows a lack of trust? What would show trust, then? Giving her my ATM pin number?"

"Have you given her your pin number?" House squinted at Wilson, his sandwich halfway towards his mouth.

"No, House," Wilson said dryly, picking up his sandwich.

"Have you given her _anything_?" House asked, a tone of mocking slowly appearing in his voice.

"She knows my family history..." Wilson said defensively, gesturing slightly with his sandwich.

"Doesn't count. I know your family history."

"Only because you forced it out of me."

"She probably did the same thing."

"No, I told her."

"After she asked?" House guessed.

"No, I told her the first thing after we had sex." Wilson said, giving a deadpan look of irritation as he rolled his eyes. "Of course I told her after she asked. Why would I just blurt out all the things in my life that make me uncomfortable?" He took a bite of his sandwich.

"To show her that you trust her," House attacked his friend yet again.

Wilson sighed. "Can I have my credit card back?"

"I'm not finished," House insisted.

Wilson sat back in his seat, hitting his head lightly against the cushioned seatback as he groaned.

"House," he said after a moment, leaning forward once again, "I trust Amber. She trusts me. What else do you want?"

"Evidence," House said plainly, "we're men of science, not faith."

"Ah yes, logic and reason shall prove my trust," Wilson said, putting on a voice filled with a hint of mysticism. "Well, how about this, House," he said, shifting immediately to a more serious tone, "I gave her a job. She trusted my judgment enough to take up a job at the hospital I used to work at. I knew there was an opening because the hospital administrator still thinks he has a chance of bringing me back and he keeps calling me for some reason..." he paused as he realized he was falling into a rant.

"I dropped her name during a phone call, he sounded interested so I talked to her about it. She was definitely struggling with you firing her, and she knew she needed a job, she respected my judgment and my compassion for her, so she accepted the job," he slid back in his seat yet again as he finished his speech, ending on a tone of self-satisfaction.

"But is she happy?" House drilled, picking up his soda and sipping it with an air of true interest.

"She didn't quit," Wilson reasoned.

"Which could mean she just doesn't want to hurt your feelings," House argued.

"Because she cares about me."

"Caring and trust are two different things. You can care about someone and not trust them. Why do you think parents never give their kids a set of car keys?"

"Well, moving away from your childhood here..." Wilson quipped, "Amber likes her job. She's thankful for it. But more importantly, she likes it."

"Everyone lies," House muttered. Despite the deep satisfaction he was currently receiving from proving his theory that Amber was very much capable of lying to Wilson, House could not help but feel a sense of guilt and even pity for his friend because yet again, Wilson was being manipulated. On the other hand, even though a sense of guilt definitely stirred somewhere in his heart and mind, House could not bring himself to reveal his pact with Amber. At least... not yet; the pieces were set, but House couldn't bring himself to take the queen. A nagging sensation in the back of his mind sent a warning of the chaos set to erupt once that one action was taken...

"But only if there's a reason," Wilson pointed out, raising his index finger at House.

"So you're in the clear," House replied, giving his voice a cheerier, nonchalant tone as he turned around in his seat to find a trash can.

As he turned, he felt his heart leap in his chest as a familiar flash of blonde hair sped across the cafeteria, out of the room and down the hall. House spun back quickly in an attempt to hide what he'd just witnessed, but Wilson had followed his gaze, and his eyebrows had furrowed into a squint of even deeper confusion and speculation.

"Yeah," Wilson said slowly, "she tells me everyday about the cases she's working on." His voice was still gathering momentum as he spoke, signifying to House that his attention was still on the familiar flash of blonde he had also seen. After a moment of continuous squinting, Wilson allowed his eyebrows to relax as he sighed and turned his attention once again to House.

"Face it, House," he said, picking up his tray to throw away his trash, "it's possible to actually trust someone close to you. It's hard to believe that that's usually how a relationship works."

House rolled his eyes.

"Which reminds me," Wilson said as he placed his empty tray atop the trash can, "can I have my credit card back?"

House sighed as he pulled the card from his back pocket and handed it to Wilson. The two then began to head back upstairs. As they got in the elevator, Wilson finally spoke aloud the nagging concern he'd had since House had followed that mysterious blonde figure out the door.

"Was that... Amber?" he asked curiously. He did not even have to explain what he was referring to for House to completely understand. Luckily, House was ready with a response.

"Although you may be dating a witch," he said, pausing for dramatic effect, "I trust even she can't be in two places at once."

Wilson clicked his tongue as he gave a slight nod of agreement, but he still couldn't shake the feeling that House knew something he didn't...

As the elevator let them off at the appropriate floor, Wilson headed down the hall, reached his office and went inside. House could hear Wilson's apologetic voice saying, "I'm sorry about that..." House couldn't help but chuckle slightly, although his small smile vanished immediately as he looked up to see Amber's satisfied smirk through the glass doors of the conference room.


	4. Everyone Lies

Chapter 4

"Have a nice lunch?" House asked as he pushed the door to the conference room open with all of his might. He limped quickly across the room, stopping at the white board to make notes on his patient.

"Lovely," Amber said sweetly, her arms folded across her chest as she back away from the swinging door just in time.

"Hear about the beef recall at schools in California? Huh," he chuckled as he wrote, "makes you wonder what's in our cafeteria meat."

Amber's face turned only slightly pale, but gave herself the appearance of being unaffected by House's implied jabs. She gave him no response.

House continued writing on the board, leaving the squeaking white board marker as the only sound in the room. It made for a simultaneously eerie and awkward noise, seemingly signifying the odd, off air or even the danger that had settled in the room. This mood seemed to hang stagnantly for a few moments before House finally capped his pen and spun to face Amber.

"Are you an idiot?" He asked in his typical, blunt fashion.

"You're trying to torture me, why can't I torture you?"

"Oh, you can," House said, throwing his cane-free hand forward in a welcoming gesture, "but who's really going to suffer at the end of all this? Not me," he said as he strode closer to Amber, pulling out a chair and beginning to take a seat.

Amber glared slightly menacingly at House, her arms still folded across her chest from where she stood.

"Besides," House continued as he sighed and sat down, "you just think you're torturing me. Who you're really hurting is Wilson. Betraying his trust, taunting him with the possibility you're working here behind his back, insulting his compassion, all that good stuff," he listed the concepts almost like facts for an upcoming test as he slouched in his chair, reciting those key themes he'd discussed with Wilson earlier.

"What he doesn't know can't hurt him," Amber said, maintaining her fierce gaze as she shrugged off House's statement.

"You're playing the indifference card," House said, his voice lower in volume.

"I'm playing the compassionate card."

"You think you're doing Wilson a favor by doing all this?"

"I think I'm doing everyone a favor," she said, giving her voice an air of arrogant confidence as she raised her head slightly, "especially ---"

"You," House said, a slight edge of bitterness in his words.

"Yes, me. I get to test you, Wilson and my own medical skills," she said triumphantly.

House sighed, placing his arms on his legs as he stared at the floor.

"Don't leave this room," he began, "or I'll tell Wilson."

Amber only flashed a smile. "Oh, so I can't hurt him but you can. I see; it all makes perfect sense."

House continued to look at the floor. He refused to give Amber any sign that she had caught him in a huge flaw. Amber still had the upper hand, no matter what he did. What's more, was that no matter what happened, Wilson was still going to end up losing everything.

"I'd do a better job of comforting him about it than you would," he finally lied.

"Ah, the role reversal card," she said, nodding in a mocking tone, "couldn't have seen that one coming."

"You're an idiot!" House yelled, his temper finally reaching its boiling point as he looked up at Amber. He immediately stood up and began to pace the floor of the conference room.

"You think this is some sort of game? You always have! Which is why I fired you in the first place! So now _everything _is a goddamn game?!" he yelled as he limped about the room, stumbling slightly as he reached one end of the room; he had left his cane on the floor in his anger.

"Remember how I told you I know how to get what I need?" Amber said slowly, giving a sense of pure control over the furious, hobbling House. "It's because I know how to play this game."

"And smite all the other pieces on the board," House said through gritted teeth. "You haven't changed. You're still the one who only thinks for yourself and your immediate needs."

"So this shouldn't be a concern to you," Amber pointed out.

"That's where you're wrong," House said, still furiously limping without his cane, "because I care about what you're doing to Wilson. Stop screwing with everyone's heads. I don't ever want to see you in that cafeteria again. Leave. Wilson. Alone. Or give him the respect you claim you give him."

He stopped, panting slightly as he released his emotions. As he stood, his furious, blue eyes met with Amber's equally infuriated blue ones. Yet Amber still somehow maintained a sense of triumph in her glare. House sensed it as he continued to stare her down – she had gained something a little bit more than the upper hand in this verbal debate...

"I still win, House," she said calmly.

"Good for you," House said, finally limping over to his chair where his cane lay on the floor. "Now stay in this office. Don't leave for anything. Or I'll fire you.. again."

With that, anger still pulsating through his veins, House stormed out of the conference room, leaving Amber to stir in her own emotions as the door swung violently shut.

House brooded in his own thoughts as he paced the hallway outside. He hadn't missed that knowing look in Amber's eyes as he had yelled at her. Somehow, he had let something slip and as a result, she knew. She knew he cared about Wilson; she knew House had a personal connection to this entire ordeal and worst of all, now she knew how to drop dangerous implications about it in front of Wilson.

He hadn't expected to go flying off the handle as he had, and as a result, his battle with Amber had fallen into a vicious stalemate. As soon as he opened his mouth in an attempt to end the entire ordeal, Amber could respond with an equally vicious, deafening blow. Worst of all, what either he or Amber had to say would pull Wilson into an abyss of confusion and utter loss.

House raised his hand to his eyes and began to rub them in irritation and frustration. His mind raced from one possible solution to the next, but none of them seemed remotely satisfying. He sighed as he continued to pace, his eyes staring intently at the floor in his concentration, his shoes making an echoing thud on the floor with every step.

_WHAM._

House suddenly felt himself stumbling backwards due to a sudden collision with another figure in front of him. He attempted to gain composure as he regained balance and looked up at this sudden barrier: it was Wilson. House felt his throat suddenly grow dry, and his eyes reflexively grew wider. Wilson could only squint his eyes and cock his head to one side in pure concern for his friend; his hands were full of a pharmaceutical bag.

"'Morning House," he said, somewhat cheerfully, "you okay?"

"Yeah, great," House grumbled, restoring his sulking tone as he stared irately at Wilson. House took the opportunity to look from Wilson's look of concern to the bags in his hands.

"Pills for your patient?" he asked, straining his face in anticipation for a response.

"For Amber," Wilson replied, beginning to walk towards his office, "she has some sort of flu bug."

House turned and fell into step with his friend. "Oh, a 'flu bug' – very scientific diagnosis."

"Well, I didn't diagnose it; she did," Wilson shrugged as they passed by the conference room.

"All the more proof your girlfriend's a hack doctor," House said.

"She had all of the symptoms of this year's flu: fever, runny nose, _terrible _cough," Wilson began to list her symptoms. "I love Amber and all but I wouldn't go near her: it sounded terrible. But I assured her I'd pick up some medications for her when I went to work."

"She didn't want you home as a stay-at-home Wilson?" House asked, pretending to be absolutely appalled.

"She respected the fact that I have a meeting with my patient again today," Wilson said, throwing a significant look at House, "because we didn't get to cover everything I wanted to yesterday."

"So did she go to work?" House asked as he stopped at the door to Wilson's office. Wilson fumbled with the bags for a moment, arranging them in one hand so he could pull out his office key. After a minute, he pulled his set of keys from his pocket, shook the key ring and placed the correct key in his office door.

"No," Wilson said, giving House a look of clear disbelief as he swung his office door open, "she stayed home. Her fever was at 101 when I left."

"Did you feel her forehead or is that what she told you?" House asked, following Wilson into his office and shutting the door behind him. He walked over to Wilson's black, leather couch and threw himself onto it, settling across it in a relaxed position.

"She told me – the way she looked was evidence enough. She was sweating slightly and very flushed. Why? You think she was faking?" he asked as he slid into his seat at his desk.

"Everyone lies," House repeated in a low voice.

Wilson rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue, "For a reason, House," he said, opening one of his desk drawers, "we've been through this."

"Well then," House said, getting up, "start using your imagination."

Wilson chuckled, "I don't have to;" he said, "she's actually sick."

"You trust her judgment that she is."

"Not this again," Wilson groaned.

"It'll come back to haunt you one day. For once, I'm your conscience."

"Well, long time no see, old friend," Wilson said in a falsely cheery tone as he attempted to read his patient's file. He then looked up at House with the expression House knew only too well; he was about to begin his classic interrogation.

"Why is it that you're so interested in my trust in Amber, yet we have no trust in our friendship whatsoever?" Wilson opened up the debate with this tantalizing prompt.

"We can get away with it," House shrugged from his seat, attempting to give himself an innocent appearance. "I steal from you, you borrow from me – we're happy in the end."

"So you're saying I'm _not _going to be happy with Amber and the relationship we have?"

"Use your imagination," House responded, beginning to head from his seat towards the door.

"House," Wilson sighed. House turned on the spot, inches from the door. They stared at each other for a moment, and House could see that Wilson was mulling their conversation over in the back of his mind. At last, Wilson seemed unable to give any response and simply said, "I guess you're just one of a kind."

House gave a silent bow, then turned to reach for the doorknob and exited Wilson's office. As he closed the door behind him, House could not help but grin.


	5. Chaos

Chapter 5 

House seemed to meander the hallways during the rest of the day as though he were in a daze. He was never completely focused on the cases presented to him, nor, conveniently, to Amber's consistent sulking. Fortunately for House, his ability to diagnose was not weakened by his lack of concentration and as a result, his team paid seemed to ignore his inattentive behavior.

However, this streak of inattentiveness was quickly smothered with the sound of an elevator ding followed by the familiar pattern of footsteps made by a woman walking in very high heels striding furiously towards House's office. As she swung the door open, House knew his current behavior would have to cease, although he refused to move from his current, reclined position at his desk. Cuddy strode into the room, files at one hand and her furious glare pointed in House's direction.

"We need to talk," Cuddy said firmly as she reached the foot of House's desk.

"If you're cheating on that lawyer in interns for me, you're making a bad choice," House said mockingly.

Cuddy glanced around outside House's office before leaning in closer to House, placing her hands at the edge of his desk.

"Not about me," she said, shaking her head quietly, "about Wilson," she spoke almost at a whisper. House simply raised his eyebrows at Cuddy, his feet still at their relaxed position on his desk. Cuddy continued to stare meaningfully at House and their gazes met. House could analyze the fear, concern and secrecy surrounding Cuddy's pending concerns as he slowly rose from his seat and followed Cuddy outside; there could be no doubt this upcoming discussion was going to be about Amber. 

Cuddy led House professionally down the hall, still carrying her files in one hand as she walked. She turned left at the elevator, leading House to the secluded vending machines at the end. As they reached the end of the corridor, Cuddy checked her surroundings yet again, making sure no one was around to overhear. 

At last, she spoke, "House, how long has Amber been 'working' here?"

"About five seconds in Cuddy time," House said plainly.

Cuddy cocked her head slightly as she responded, "Ah, I see. Well, apparently that's long enough for her to come to me and demand a form for her paychecks."

House rolled his eyes exaggeratedly at the ceiling and muttered, "Selfish idiot."

"How long were you planning to keep this little secret?" Cuddy asked, a small smirk forming at the corners of her mouth.

"As long as possible with that ego of hers," House said, gesturing wildly with his cane-free hand.

"And where did you expect her paycheck money to come from? Your own wallet?"

"Actually, I was hoping it'd be Wilson's."

"Why didn't you tell me you'd hired her?"

"Everything I tell you goes straight to Wilson. Everyone knows that," House said, a clear tone of annoyance in his voice.

Confusion began to creep across Cuddy's defiant face, "Is Wilson _not _supposed to know about this?"

House groaned, shifted in his stance and rolled his eyes once again as a result of his slowly erupting discomfort.

"House!" Cuddy then exclaimed, her eyes growing wide with understanding, "Are you actually making a deal with Amber behind Wilson's back! Why would you do that? Not only is this illegal, not only could you put this hospital under threat from the IRS, but you're jeopardizing your friendship with Wilson!"

"Oh, right," House said sarcastically, "employing his girlfriend is going to cause the apocalypse."

"You know what I mean, House," Cuddy said, regaining the firmness in her voice, "obviously because you're doing this behind Wilson's back it means he doesn't want her at this hospital. Have you ever considered respecting your best friend's wishes?"

"If I did that, it'd be the equivalent of letting Wilson dig his own grave," House said defensively. "And you know that I'm right, save your breath. You hate her as much as everyone else at this hospital."

"Besides Wilson," Cuddy argued.

"Well, once he finds out she's working here, he'll hate her too. Problem solved, you won't have to file her tax returns."

"So you _want _Wilson to find out?" Cuddy asked incredulously. "House, I thought you couldn't sink any lower..."

"Oh please," House dismissed Cuddy's attack, "you want Wilson to leave Amber as much as anyone. She's a bitch!" House said, his voice elevating in anger and volume.

"Yes, of course, House," Cuddy said, glancing around wildly to make sure House's elevated voice hadn't attracted any outside attention, "but what you clearly fail to realize is that in doing this, you're going to break Wilson's heart."

"He'll get over it," House said, pushing away Cuddy's attempt at a guilt-trip. 

"But what if he doesn't, House? What if they really love each other? I know that's so hard for you to believe, but it's very possible – especially for someone like Wilson."

"You mean someone who's surrendered his soul to three devils already," House grumbled.

"You can call it whatever you want, House," Cuddy said, taking a dangerous step closer to House and staring at him intently, "but you should realize that by hiring Amber, you're setting yourself, as well as Wilson, up for a disaster---" 

Cuddy's voice trailed off in terror as she noticed a moment too late a figure striding down the hallway, shoes thudding heavily towards the secretive duo. The thudding footsteps were quickly paired with a pair of khakis, a figure in a blue sweater-vest and long, white lab coat; Wilson already halfway down the hallway, a dollar bill at hand for the vending machines.

The duo remained frozen in place, giving themselves the appearance of deer in headlights, rooted to the spot in shock and a slight twinge of fear as Wilson continued to head towards them, his deep brown eyes fixated on their eyes which were equally filled with fear. When Wilson was several feet away from them, nearly three quarters of the way down the corridor, he stopped in his tracks and stared at them. His eyebrows furrowed closely together in a wave of initial confusion, bewilderment and then deep understanding. His understanding evolved into a stirring emotion of anger as his stare shifted from between Cuddy and House to House alone. There was an underlying sense of determination in his gaze as well, as if he were struggling to retain a wave of overpowering emotion. House noticed Wilson's hands at his side shift from their relaxed position into two furious fists, causing his dollar bill to crinkle in his grasp.

Wilson continued to gaze meaningfully at House, scrutinizing his best friend as if he were looking at him in an entirely new light. House was given the impression that he was being x-rayed, and he felt a plunging sensation in his heart as his mind repeated over and over again, _He knows. He knows and he's not going to say anything about it._

"I have the feeling I'm interrupting something," Wilson said, a slight sense of ironic politeness in his tone as he held up his palms in a shield-like gesture, "forget I ever came through here." With that, he spun on his heel and stormed down the hallway, vanishing with a swish of his lab coat.

Cuddy threw House a furious glance. "You're on your own," she said, turning quickly and hurrying down the hall, her high heels echoing in her wake, leaving House alone to stir in everything he had brought upon himself.


	6. Trouble

Chapter 6

House's mood had shifted within twelve hours from his carefree, light, and cheerful mood into one consisting of anxiety, self-torment and frustration. Wilson had not spoken to him since the incident the previous afternoon, and House knew that the time would come within the present day in which he would have to face Wilson. His only hope was that his emotional best friend would be compelled to confront him about the entire ordeal first, which would take the most difficult part off of House's to-do list. 

Yet no matter how much he thought about it, wracked his brains over it, and paced relentlessly up and down his office, House knew that inevitable moment would come within the hour, and for the first time in his life, he was not ready to face it. He knew Wilson had discovered some layer of the truth yesterday, but due to the intensity of the argument with Cuddy, House had not seen when Wilson had entered the corridor. As a result, House was held at an extreme disadvantage of being entirely unable to prepare any sort of answer for the questions which Wilson would demand of him. 

There were two distinct realms of possibilities from which Wilson could develop his questions. One was the obvious: why House had deliberately aided and abetted in Amber's secret job at Princeton Plainsboro. The other, House thought about with a sinking feeling, was if he, House, was in love with Wilson. The mere fact that House was stumbling over the concept of Wilson asking this signified that House had somehow lost all sense of rationale. From the overheard conversation yesterday, it was simply impossible for Wilson to come up with any sort of idea about House's personal feelings, given that the entire conversation was about Amber. Nonetheless, House continued to pace his office, focusing on how to answer the latter question more than anything else. 

It irked him entirely that he was forcing himself to deal with his emotional discomforts rather than how to pull himself out of this mess, but somehow, for once in his life, his emotional discomforts seemed directly tied to the solution. House reflected on his initial meeting with Amber, and what had driven him that day to hire the woman he hated the most. Hadn't it been because of his selfish desires for Wilson that he had allowed Amber to work with him? Hadn't he let his personal jealousy and newfound emotions for Wilson destroy his characteristic deductive and logical mind?

Indeed, House had theorized that once Wilson found out about Amber, he would hate her and leave her, giving House the opportunity to... what? House had never gotten past that point in his plan before, because those two long days ago in which he hired Amber, the idea that Wilson would find out seemed strangely impossible. Yet here, at this present moment in time, anything seemed possible, whether he was expecting it or not.

House stopped pacing his office to walk silently to the window and gaze out into the morning sun. His reflection seemed to overpower the images of the world outside, and House saw the weariness and internal struggle reflected on his worn face. His blue eyes seemed slightly dulled due to the reflection, but also as a result of his emotional fatigue. He had never worn himself down this terribly about anything... or anyone, for that matter.

He sighed as he continued to stare off into the distance, which distracted him from hearing the slight creak of his office door and the padded footsteps of shoes on the carpet. This silent figure stood momentarily, watching House's back as he attempted to contain his bottled and jumbled up emotions. The figure scrutinized his best friend, then sighed simultaneously as he held up his hand to run it through his dirty blonde hair. 

"House," he said, quietly, still holding his hand to the back of his head.

House had to stifle his startled jump to the best of his abilities as he gradually spun around to stare into the deep, brown eyes of his best friend. The two could only stare at each other, both attempting to analyze the other with every movement they made. After several seconds, Wilson shifted his hand uncomfortably to his hip, and House scrambled to fix his eyes somewhere – anywhere – other than on Wilson's utterly bewildered face...

House began to open his mouth to explain, but Wilson's voice cut across the thick, awkward air first.

"How long has it been, House?" he asked, simply. "How long have I been such an idiot?" He began to perform his typical gestures, throwing out his hands at waist-length as he spoke.

"You really want me to answer that?" House asked dryly, attempting to convey a feeling of carelessness in his voice although his mind was racing: he _knew_. 

"Well, Amber certainly won't," Wilson replied.

House interpreted a layer of sarcasm at this comment and returned the favor.

"Ah right, it's up to me to confess, it's the only way to be saved," he said dryly.

Wilson's eyes flashed with brief confusion, but in order to stand his ground, he attempted to smother that brief falter. He opened his mouth to retort, but he could only gape and babble slightly; he had no idea what House was referring to. He changed tactics by attempting to speak as vaguely as possible, hoping that House would fill in the blanks as an individual does for their fortune cookie.

"Yes, you must see the light of God," he said, waving his hands in a mock sense of majesty and speaking in a mystical whisper. House only threw him a sideways glance, raising one of his eyebrows in slight bewildered confusion.

"But seriously House," Wilson said firmly, placing his hands once again at his hips, "did you really expect me to be completely blind to this forever?"

"Oh please, don't patronize me," House defended, "you're the one who brought this up. You could've just let it go, but you had to be your typical self..."

"I'm the one whose best friend is cheating on me—on Amber," he said, throwing out his hands only to pull them back in and scratch his head awkwardly at his fumbling verbal mistake.

"Either way, that made no sense," House said in his traditional, sarcastic tone. Within him, however, House felt an utmost sense of relief. Wilson didn't know after all; he just thought Amber was sleeping with him. Suddenly, House could not contain himself. He felt his lips forming into a genuine smile, his white teeth slowly revealing themselves to Wilson's squinting face. His shoulder shook with laughter, and his eyes narrowed in this unusual wave of joy and relief that flooded his body.

"House, this isn't funny," Wilson said, anger starting to show in his voice, "why would you do that?"

"You _seriously _think that I'm sleeping with Amber?"

"Well – wh—I – nothing else fits," Wilson stammered, his eyebrows rising into his hairline.

"Think again," House said, attempting to limp past Wilson. He walked right past Wilson, a few feet from the door when suddenly the familiar figures of Taub, Kutner, Thirteen and Amber appeared at the door, pushing it open and entering the room.

"Dr. House, we've---" Thirteen and Amber jumped forward excitedly but then immediately paused as they glanced around at the scene they'd interrupted, and fell silent. Thirteen sank back into Kutner and Taub, but Amber remained rooted to the spot, looking horrified at House and Wilson, who had turned around with the intention of following House out of the room. 

House stared at the floor, standing between Wilson and his fellowship. 

"Get out," he said quietly, still staring determinedly at the floor. He heard the sound of padded footsteps departing and looked up to see Amber still standing there, chalk-white and gaping. House turned to look at Wilson, who was equally pale and opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water.

"Amber...?" he asked, a tinge of pure shock, disbelief and sadness in his voice. House felt his heart twinge slightly. He had heard that tone of voice before; it was the voice of a man who has been betrayed.

"Hi, James," Amber said, barely audible and now looking anywhere other than at her boyfriend.

"W- w- what are you doing here?" Wilson asked, his voice still maintaining its utterly devastating tone.

"She works here," House said from his spot, shuffling his feet as he slowly began to move away from between the duo.

Wilson watched House's slight retreat to the window and stammered, "Wor—works here?" His voice still conveyed bewilderment. He seemed to snap out of his sadness and then spoke again, an edge of anger echoing in his voice, "_Here_?" He directed the question at Amber.

House recognized the fact that Wilson's anger was currently directed at Amber, which meant he was safe from Wilson's wrath for the present moment. He seized his opportunity as he spoke, "She showed up several days ago, came to me for a job because she _despised_ the one you got for her."

He grinned maliciously at Amber, whose face had shifted to stare at House, fury and humiliation rising in her face as House betrayed her.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Wilson asked Amber, hurt conveyed in every ounce of his fiber.

"You would have just left me sooner," Amber said, tears actually beginning to develop in her eyes.

"I would never have done that," Wilson said exasperatedly, "but now you've lied to me. I trusted you... I believed you... you needed me and I wanted to help. But I see now you never needed my help at all." His voice shifted quickly from hurt to bitter anger, and his gaze turned furiously to House behind him.

"You," he said, turning around entirely to point animatedly at House, "you actually hired her? And didn't tell me!"

"You would've just left me sooner," House mocked, taking on a high pitched voice.

"God damn it, House!" Wilson finally reached his boiling point. "You've tested my trust thousands of times before, but this is where it ends. I'm okay with Amber working here, I'm fine with that. What I'm not fine with is all of this god-damned secrecy! You didn't _have _to do that! But now," Wilson began to laugh manically as he typically did when he was absolutely overwhelmed with anger and resentment, "now you've gone and not only ruined _everything _for me and Amber, but you've also ruined everything for yourself. Thank you, thank you _very much._"

"James," Amber said, her voice cracking from her struggle to contain her tears, "I hated that job. I hated it – it – it was just... hell. I felt trapped in a place I knew I shouldn't be. And it wasn't your fault, but I didn't want to tell you; I didn't know what you'd do." She was clearly begging; nothing was left for her.

Wilson simply held up his hands in a gesture to show he wanted silence.

"Forget about it," he said, his voice maintaining a calm level despite the level of emotion in the room, "and forget about me."

With that, he strode past Amber and reached for the door handle to House's office. As he pulled it open, he took one long, last look at the teary-eyed Amber, and then focused his eyes on House, who was leaning against the window like a silent observer of a climatic scene in a play.

"Thanks a lot," he spoke bitterly at House. He then let out an angry sigh as he allowed the glass door to swing shut behind him.

Amber stood rooted to the spot for several minutes, finally allowing her tears to fall freely. Against House's personal wishes, he could not help but feel slightly sorry for Amber. He could, in a very twisted fashion, relate to Amber's sadness; he had had to let Wilson go numerous times before, and he knew the emotional state that it all caused. But his hatred remained kindled for Amber as he stood up from his reclining position and began to leave his office. 

As he passed by Amber, he told her briefly, "I'll have Cuddy send your check in the mail." 

Amber looked up at House with a final, pleading look. But her attempt at pity was proven futile as House's jealousy pushed him even further.

"You're fired."

With that, House departed from his office and limped noisily down the hall with the intent of going outside to get some fresh air.


	7. Understanding

**A/N: Thanks to everyone for reading my story - I hope everyone is satisfied with this resolution and I look forward to hearing your constructive criticism or commentson everything overall. **

**Disclaimer (which should've been at the first chapter) All characters and related items of House MD belong to Howard Shore and Fox, not me. I do not intend on using their character for personal profit, just personal enjoyment. **

---

Chapter 7

The sun was setting outside, casting a golden shade through Wilson's window as he sat at his desk, his palm resting on his forehead. He hadn't been able to focus on his work all day, and he felt as though he might simply force his head to collide with the desk in order to push out all of his distracting thoughts about Amber and House from that horrible argument which had erupted hours previous.

He sighed as he put his pen down, sliding his hands up and down his face quickly in order to rub away his restlessness. He then allowed his mind to wander briefly, hoping that by focusing on it, everything would choose to slip to the back of his mind.

Had he ever entirely liked Amber? Up until today, it had seemed that way. But in retrospect, now that it was clear that Amber had never truly changed, perhaps his feelings had never changed either. Perhaps Amber had been yet another distraction which had temporarily pulled Wilson away from the truth. Frustration welled up in Wilson at this thought; he was sick of running from himself. His wives had been an escape from his denial, he was sure of it as soon as he'd made that life-altering, initial realization. Why else would he have gone through three unsuccessful marriages within the course of several years?

But no, Amber simply could not be yet another escape route from acceptance. Wilson refused to believe he was that weak, or that he feared the truth about his personal feelings. He was not one of those individuals to run from emotions – he typically embraced them. So why was it suddenly so hard to accept that Amber had been a very weak disguise for another individual – an individual whom he had been running from for several years? Perhaps it was because Wilson had struggled so hard to believe that Amber was the hammer which would utterly destroy the pathetic chain of women Wilson had created in previous years. Amber had seemed like an extremely reliable candidate for that, but at the heart of the matter, Amber was just as pathetically needy as any other woman Wilson had dated (or married, for that matter). As a result, Wilson now realized, Amber was quite the opposite of the hammer: she was the weakest link.

Wilson sighed again and ran a hand through his hair as he attempted to look at his situation in a more positive perspective. At last, he landed on the most uplifting concept: Amber was not the "weakest link", but rather the source of realization. Because of her inability to distract Wilson from his own, true feelings, Amber had seemingly guided him in the direct confrontation of these feelings, allowing him now to stand face to face with them and ultimately accept them. 

_It's always been about House, hasn't it? _Wilson thought to himself. Yes, it always had been – he knew it in his heart and mind, whether he consciously accepted it or not. Wilson shook his head slightly in frustration: he knew he should be absolutely furious at House for his cruel betrayal-like behavior, but at the present moment, he could only feel graciousness for House's strange decision to hire Amber. If he hadn't hired Amber, Wilson would never have discovered that Amber had never changed and therefore, he would never have reached the conclusion made only moments before. It was a delicate chain-reaction all connected at the source: House.

Therefore, only one question remained: what had driven House to hire Amber? Compassion, guilt and other empathetic characteristics were all highly improbable given the fact that Wilson was thinking about _House,_ so he dismissed those fundamental concepts. Revenge was quite probable, but Wilson's desire to dig deeper allowed him to contemplate every possible reason for another half hour as the sun vanished beyond the horizon, covering Wilson's office in the shadows of the early night. 

Wilson read the time on his wristwatch: 7:30. His files were still incomplete and he figured that continuing to work on them now would be entirely pointless. He yawned and placed his face in his hands. His office was still bathed in darkness, creating a perfect atmosphere for a quick nap. As Wilson sat at his desk, hands at his face, he felt his eyelids begin to droop and before he knew it, he had dozed off.

--

It was only half an hour later when the lights to Wilson's office snapped on, pulling him out of his nap with a start. Attempting to wipe his saliva off of his face and hands, Wilson grabbed a tissue and feigned blowing his nose. As he did so, he looked up to see the familiar figure of House standing in his office doorway, wearing his scarf, cabbie hat and a look of deep troubles.

Wilson could only gape curiously at House, who silently closed the door behind him and walked to the front of Wilson's desk.

"Going to move out?" House immediately asked in a quiet tone.

"Is it really your business?" Wilson said groggily.

"Well, technically it is if I'm supposed to give you room and board..."

"I am moving out. I'm not moving in with you again," Wilson heard himself say, although he felt a strange sense of resistance and regret at his words. "You aided and abetted in all of this. Now get out of my office."

"I'm proud of you, Wilson," House said, ignoring Wilson's command. "Pushing away neediness is the first step in growing a backbone."

Wilson rolled his eyes as he picked up his pen to finish a few sentences on his file.

Seeing that Wilson was going to try and ignore him, House continued to speak.

"You should thank me for helping you discover the truth, seeing that it would've taken you a few months longer to figure it out anyway. The difference is that now you'll be saving that money that would've been spent on that fourth wedding ring."

Wilson felt fury rising in him again, and his knuckles turned white as he clenched his fist on the desk. His mind whirred as he struggled to think of a comeback. At last, he felt himself make the connections...

"Why did you do it, House?" Wilson demanded.

"Trust," House said, pacing within the confinements of Wilson's office, but he did not elaborate.

Wilson raised a single eyebrow.

"Now I don't know what to think," he said, speaking his mind entirely. House's answer had only provoked more questions.

"You should," House responded, "whether you realize it or not, you've always trusted me. Why am I here and not out on the street with security guards on either side of me? Because you trust me. You need me whether you like it or not – you need neediness."

"And you needed to do all of that in order to prove this?" Wilson puzzled.

"C'mon, Wilson. You're the one who always calls this a stupid, screwed-up friendship. But now it's not: there's clear trust. Healthy neediness."

"No, now you're here only because otherwise, I'd be literally, as well as figuratively, alone."

The energy that had begun to glow within House's eyes vanished. Wilson's comment had finally struck home, and it stung. House sighed, and began to speak quietly and dryly.

"Amber once said something to me about you; about wanting love and respect. She said," he spoke slowly, allowing Wilson to hang onto every word, "you gave her that love and respect. But what I think," he paused, seeming to struggle for words, "is that you don't give love and respect: you give trust, fulfill neediness. That's how you show love."

Wilson had never heard House say anything like this at any point in their four year friendship. It intimidated Wilson, but it also stirred that small glimmer of an emotion which he had been running from for all those years...

Wilson thought about what House had said earlier – before Amber had entered the room. House had said something which implied he was hiding something: Wilson had thought he was referring to an affair with Amber and clearly, House had actually been referring to something else. Was it actually within the realm of possibility that House had been referring to his personal feelings?

"You said something yesterday," Wilson began, speaking slowly, "something about a confession you thought I wanted you to make. If it wasn't an affair with Amber... what was it?"

Wilson felt himself take an intake of breath and hold it. His hands were shaking slightly, and despite the coolness of the room, perspiration seemed to develop on his palms and forehead. Could House's answer really mean that much to him?

House seemed to search for an inanimate object to fix his gaze on. He was desperately uncomfortable, but seemed determined to bring himself to answer. Wilson felt the weight of the moment and attempted to stifle his anxiety.

"I need you," was all House could grumble. 

Wilson performed a double take.

"You... need me? That's what all of this was about?"

"It's what it's always been about," House said dryly. His throat was raspy and he still maintained a very uncomfortable air as he stood gazing at the edge of Wilson's desk.

"You mean... all those years you..." Wilson tried desperately to piece everything together. Could it really be that their feelings were mutual? After all these years they had finally come full circle.

House could only turn away with uncharacteristic embarrassment as he walked towards the window to gaze out at the moon. Wilson stared at House's back and took in the entire image of House, cane and all. He couldn't remember the physical act of standing up to follow House, but somehow Wilson found himself walking across the room to House's side where he raised his right hand to place it on House's left shoulder.

House jumped slightly at Wilson's touch, and reflexively turned to look at Wilson. Their eyes met, brown to blue, and Wilson saw a deep desire, a strange form of longing behind House's now pale blue eyes. Whoever said that the eyes were the window into one's soul could never have spoken truer than in that precise moment.

Wilson felt House tremble slightly under his hand which continued to rest at House's shoulder as House turned a fraction of a degree to face Wilson directly. House continued to stare briefly into Wilson's calm, understanding face before looking away again.

At last, Wilson knew the moment had arrived.

"Somehow, I always knew..."

He gave House his typical, knowing, sideways look as he spoke, and House immediately snapped up, his eyes wide in dawning comprehension. Wilson gave him a look of deep empathy before he felt his right hand move from its position on House's shoulder up to House's unshaven face. His allowed himself the small joy of slowly moving his fingers up and down House's face, tracing his chin as he continued to look compassionately into House's eyes.

House trembled slightly from the flooding emotions within him combined with the happiness Wilson was serving to him on a beautiful, moon-reflected platter. But he could not bring himself to respond, either verbally or physically. Perhaps a strange sort of fear restrained him, or perhaps it was just the weight of the scene, but House soaked in everything and simply could not give anything back. He closed his eyes briefly in relaxation, focusing only on Wilson's soft fingertips which were routinely moving along the left side of his face.

After a minute or so, House freed his left hand from the grasp of his cane (which fell to the flood with a soft thud) and felt his hand travel upwards to meet with Wilson's right hand. He clenched Wilson's hand tightly, and while continuing to embrace it, brought it down to their sides. He stood there, clasping Wilson's welcoming hand in his own and felt, for the first time in years, as though he were completely at peace.

Wilson let out a quick, loud sigh, signifying that the breath he had been holding since he had asked House that fateful question only minutes before had finally been released. He then broke into a smile and began to laugh quietly, his teeth gleaming in the moonlight. He began to shake slightly with his happiness and adrenaline, continuing to laugh as he shook. House could only return Wilson's nervous smile with a slight laugh. The duo stood there, relishing in the sheer bliss of it all.

After a while, House stopped laughing as he asked, "That's it? No jokes? No sense of irony? No maniacal laugh of gloating?"

"No, House," Wilson said, continuing to laugh periodically. "Just learn to appreciate this. I know I am. I've – I've been waiting for this for four years."

House's blue eyes widened for a moment, but then House gave out a small chuckle as he glanced around for his cane.

Still holding House's hand, Wilson led his partner over to his desk in order to pick up the cane that had fallen there. As he handed the cane to House, they looked at one another one last time. Wilson could feel the tension of the moment, that nearly irresistible pull which had always played tantalizingly at the back of his mind. It continued to pull harder than ever towards House. Wilson knew that as soon as they headed outside of his small office that they would have to face the harsh reality of the world and the chaos that remained unsettled there. But now, here with House, he could only think about the sudden, newfound sense of comprehension and understanding that he had not had only half an hour before. With House, everything made sense.

He allowed House to hold his cane in his left hand, as he always did, and then seized the opportunity to grab House's only free hand. He pulled House to the door, turning the knob and beginning to head out into a fresh, new world, House at his side.

"Dinner?" House asked as they exited the office.

"Your choice."


End file.
